


True North

by Mice



Series: Sea Change [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Flynn angst, M/M, spoilers for Shadows Rising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25784953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: A mirror for Salt and Soap and Whiskey. Flynn frets, until he doesn't.
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw
Series: Sea Change [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1875685
Comments: 35
Kudos: 116





	True North

Flynn hadn't expected the Lord Admiral's kindness to him after he'd reported in about Shaw. About losing the Alliance's spymaster. That was probably a hanging offense, losing someone like that. Not that the raw fact of his loss wasn't punishment enough; he'd live the rest of his life with that picture in his mind. Mathias, alone with his hands in the air, the Zandalari closing in on him on that Tides-forsaken beach. Flynn had done that to him. Abandoned him.

If it had been one of those 'heroes,' Flynn wouldn't have liked it, either, but he could have lived with it. He could have considered someday sleeping again in the aftermath. Heroes were a silver a dozen. Like eggs, easily breakable, easily replaced, at least in the eyes of the people in power. But Mathias -- no. Mathias wasn't replaceable.

"We have to get this information to Anduin," the Lord Admiral had said, and the next thing Flynn knew, he was stepping through a portal with a cranky paladin, a really creepy Void Elf, and one seriously overpowered mage who happened to be the leader of Kul Tiras. They always left him stressed and queasy, portals. That weird sensation of his consciousness not being entirely in his body during the supremely disconcerting experience of being neither here nor there that was portal travel. Best to be drunk when you did it. Give him the deck of a stout ship under his feet any day.

"This isn't your fault, Fairwind. You did exactly what you were supposed to do. You did the right thing." He heard Proudmoore's words without feeling them. They echoed in him, hollow and meaningless.

The Alliance's leadership questioned him for what felt like forever about what they'd seen, about the storm, about the information they'd found. Finally, a break had been called for the night and Flynn had been dismissed. Renzik, Mathias's Goblin second, walked with him. 

"I can see you're really broken up about this, pal, but you did the right thing. Shaw knows what he's doing. He may not always like it, but he does what he has to, and so did you. You gotta listen to what they were all saying in there." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing back to the keep. "The Horde ain't gonna kill him. He's too important. It's chess, pal -- a cost/benefit analysis, if ya like -- and Shaw's more than just a pawn on the board. They'll keep him around to trade for something they want. This stuff happens all the time. He is way more valuable as a hostage than a corpse, and I'll give you that one for free."

"I wish I could believe it," Flynn grumbled.

"You need a drink, kid."

"I need a tavern full of drinks."

Renzik snorted. "I'll take you over to the Pig and Whistle. You can drown your sorrows as deep as you like, and I'll keep you company for a while because Shaw's a friend, but you're paying."

"I think I'll be paying for this for the rest of my life." Flynn sighed, despondent. 

Renzik looked up at him, his ears tilting slightly. "Ohhh, you really do have it bad, don't ya? On second thought, I'll just drop you at the oink and squeak and you can cry in your beer by yourself. Don't get in any fights. And if you do, try not to get your ass handed to ya."

Flynn spent the better part of the next week completely in his cups, mourning what might have been, if he'd only had a little more time. He was pretty sure he'd lost a couple of days somewhere during the process, and he pushed off the hangovers with more booze, until Proudmoore had him summoned to the keep one afternoon.

"Shaw's coming home," the Lord Admiral told him. "The Horde confirmed yesterday that they had him, and they're sending him back to us as thanks for what we told them about the Dark Rangers."

Flynn brightened through his alcohol haze. "They didn't kill him? They're sending him back?" Hope burst in his chest, sharp and brilliant.

Proudmoore nodded. "And if you want to meet him on the docks, you'd best look alive, Fairwind. Dry out for a couple of days, at least. Take my advice and wait on your celebratory drinks until he's back and your blood is less than 180 proof." She sighed and smiled at him. "I know this has been hard on you, but it's almost over. Forgive yourself for leaving him there, because we already have."

"Aye aye, Lord Admiral!" He offered a jaunty salute.

"All right, Captain Fairwind, you're dismissed." Flynn couldn't help the hopeless grin on his face and he turned to go. "And Flynn --" He turned his eyes back to her. "Good luck."

Tides take him, he really had been that hopeless, hadn't he? Clear as crystal in the summer sun. "Thanks."

***

When Flynn saw the glint of Mathias's red hair as he stood on the deck of the Vrykul merchantman, the crew throwing the bow and stern lines to the dockers, his pulse ratcheted up and he shifted restlessly on his feet. He was right on the heels of the King and the Lord Admiral when they boarded. Finally, unable to stand even that small distance between them anymore, Flynn launched himself at Mathias and wrapped him in his arms. 

The contact shook him. Tides, he'd missed the man so bloody much. "I sailed like a madman," Flynn said, his breath catching as he buried his face in Mathias's shoulder. "Never… never sailed like that before. But I had to get you back."

Mathias's arms were around him and Flynn savored it, like fair, following winds after a tempest. He never wanted to lose the man again. "And here I am," Mathias murmured, reassuring.

"Here you are." It really wouldn't do to cry in front of a bunch of grumpy Vrykul. Well, okay, not in front of the Lord Admiral and the King either. Flynn pulled himself together as best he could, just breathing the man in, which was possibly a mistake. His nose wrinkled because it was obvious Mathias hadn't had any access to soap and water in entirely too long, but bugger that for a lark, because Mathias was alive and here and in his arms and that was all that mattered. The fact that he smelled like a rotting murloc was immaterial.

"Flynn…" Shaw hesitated, then cleared his throat. "There's something I'd like to talk to you about. Meet me at the Gilded Rose tonight, will you?" He slowly let Flynn go, his hands trailing along Flynn's waist before he reached into his pocket. He pressed something small and delicate into Flynn's hand. "Don't be late."

A blade of grass. That lunatic Shaw had handed him a blade of grass. Flynn had no idea what that was about, but it was obviously important, and equally obvious that he was (a) being asked on a date and (b) now dismissed so that the important secret Alliance stuff could be discussed without him. He blushed, unable to help himself, and let himself touch Mathias one more time before he hurried down the gangplank, still trying to sort out what in the name of the Tidemother it meant if a spy gave you a blade of grass.

Mainlanders. He shook his head and chuckled, holding that blade of grass between his thumb and forefinger like it was a holy artifact.

He supposed it was.

They'd come in on the evening tide, but Flynn wasn't sure what would qualify as 'tonight' just yet. Proudmoore and the King would probably keep Mathias for a few hours, at minimum. If he was free before six bells, Flynn would eat his tricorne. Time enough for him to clean up a little, at least.

Before he headed for the Rose, Flynn wandered by the SI:7 compound. Casually, of course. Looking for Renzik.

"He's back," Flynn announced, unable to stifle the grin on his face.

"I heard," Renzik said. "And even if I hadn't, I'd be able to tell from that round Human face of yours."

"Wait, what? You could tell?" Embarrassing. Then again, everything about this whole mess was at least vaguely embarrassing.

"Fairwind. Pal. They can probably see it from Draenor. You need something? Because I'm working here." He gestured at his document-drowned desk with his quill.

"Um, yes, actually. I have a question." Flynn took the blade of grass out of the leather wallet in his belt pouch, where it had been safely secured and lying flat, so as not to damage it. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

Renzik squinted at it, then stared up at Flynn. "This a trick question? 'Cause it looks like grass to me."

"Well, _yes_ , but does it mean anything?"

Renzik looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "Some Tauren's lunch is a little light today? How should I know?" The Goblin tossed his hands into the air.

Okay, so not some secret spy code thing. "Right, sorry. I'll just… be on my way."

"Try to have him back to us in one piece when you two are done, ya hear?"

Oh, Tidemother. So embarrassing. "I'll have you know I am the very portrait of honor and I would _never_ \--"

"Yeah, yeah, right. Pull the other one. It's got bells on." Renzik snorted and made a dismissive gesture. Flynn scuttled out to find himself a seat at the Rose and wait.

He needed a celebratory ale while he waited, of course. Or three. Might not do to be entirely too sober, because he suspected the kind of conversation they were going to have would require a little liquid courage on his part. Flynn Fairwind did not just spill his heart on the table without a few in him, at the very least. 

He held the blade of grass in his hand, turning it this way and that, trying to understand. Such a ridiculously simple thing, and Shaw was nothing if not complicated. The only thing it could possibly be was some kind of token of affection, but he'd never heard of such a custom anywhere he'd sailed. Grass? It was supple and flawless, if slightly dry, and it had to have been in Mathias's possession for a while, because you didn't get grass at sea.

Another ale didn't make the thing make any more sense. The grass was silent, as grass tended to be.

Flynn knew what he wanted it to mean, what he wanted this evening to mean. If there were any justice in the universe, this should be a courting gesture, a symbol of some desire for connection between them. 

And then Shaw walked into the place, and Flynn couldn't help but wobble to his feet, grinning to split his face, and throw his arms around the man when he got close enough. Mathias's arms went round him and Flynn felt some tight knot inside him let go, finally. "You're back. You're safe."

"I am." Mathias's voice was soft in his ear. 

They sat and they talked, and Mathias told him that yes, that ludicrous little blade of grass was, in fact, a token of affection, but wouldn't tell him the story just yet. Too private for an inn, apparently, which was fine, because that meant they'd be leaving here together, and there was nothing Flynn wanted more.

He bought Mathias a whiskey and folded the little blade of grass into a tiny heart -- much easier to keep safe -- and tied it into his compass case with his own hair. "Any proper token of affection should be in a place that'll always take me home," Flynn said, his heart pointing to Mathias like a compass needle. "True north."

Flynn needed that, needed something in his life that he could trust. Something solid. He could see in Mathias's green emerald eyes that it was true for him, too. Mathias finished eating and set his wine glass down. "There's too much I need to say. Will you come with me?"

He'd like to see anything try to stand in his way. "Wild murlocs couldn't stop me." Flynn shot him a crooked grin. "Believe me, they'd give me pause for most things. Nasty little buggers."

They ended up at Mathias's small, bare rooms. He'd been angry, a little, about Mathias ordering him to leave, and got a bit shouty, but Shaw had weathered it and returned a volley of his own worry and distress. Flynn hadn't considered that Mathias might have been fretting about the _Bold Arva_ and her crew. About him. Worried that Flynn might have ended that storm-torn day under the waves, never to return.

They finished the night sated in each other's arms, still not having talked too much, but that didn't bother Flynn. Morning would come and they'd wake the same, twined together like good, strong cord. Mathias was exhausted and he'd no doubt been through a rough time. Flynn just held him as he slept. There'd be questions and answers when they woke, and strong, hot coffee.

Mathias's body bore scars, but not nearly so many as Flynn might have imagined. He supposed you didn't become a master spy by being caught on the regular. He was fit, but looking haggard, even in his sleep, and his face was stubbled instead of bearing his usual precise mustache and beard. It must have killed him, not being able to shave the way he liked for so long. There would no doubt be an orgy of soap and razors in the morning. It would be nice to see the familiar lines and curves of his face emerge, and watch him wax his mustache to its proper, ridiculous curled points.

Flynn pressed a kiss into his tousled red hair and cradled him close in the darkness. True north. Flynn's body held to him like a compass needle to a magnet and he ran one gentle hand over Mathias's shoulder. "Be my home port," Flynn whispered, his lips moving against Mathias's forehead. The man didn't stir, breathing softly in the night. "Be my home port, and I'll be yours. When one sails out, the other can meet him on the docks at landfall."

It was a thing every sailor longed for, greeting their love when the gangplank went down. Maybe, finally, it wouldn't be too much to ask.


End file.
